


Lions, not tigers, but bears (oh my).

by ermengarde



Series: lions, not tigers [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Weechesters, bluebear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-24
Updated: 2008-05-24
Packaged: 2017-11-26 02:03:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/645332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ermengarde/pseuds/ermengarde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dad’s off on a hunt and Dean’s going stir crazy... so he has this <em>plan</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Lions, not tigers, but bears (oh my).

**Author's Note:**

> Fluffyish Wee!Chesters in response to the prompt – Sammy’s First Hunt

“You can’t come anyway, you’re too small” Dean told the bundle of blankets sitting on the floor watching TV.

Why Sammy was watching…math?... Some guy with a beard talking about things he couldn’t figure out anyway. Whatever it was, it was really _boring_. Dean shook his head dismissively; every single day (when Dad was off on a hunt, anyway…) was exactly the same – Sammy woke up, tried to wake Dean up, got bored with being told 5a.m. was the middle of the _night_ then went to the TV and practically glued himself to it. Most of the motels they ended up in only had basic garbage channels but still Sammy always found _something_ to watch. Half of the time it was some kind of _educational_ thing and the other half it was some fake evangelist asking ( _loudly_ ) for money. The math or science or whatever (dinosaurs Dean understood, they could be kinda cool, but _school_ stuff? If it wasn’t painting or gym, Dean wasn’t interested) seemed to hold Sammy planted in front of the TV for _hours_ and that got real dull, real fast.

“M’ _not_ too small. Daddy _said_ m’not. I’ve just got to hold your hand. You’re not allowed to leave me. I’ll _tell_!”

The blankets had launched themselves at Dean and were now half pummelling, half clinging and whining. He wasn’t convinced it was a huge improvement but at least he might get some fresh air today.

“Fine, just get dressed _properly_ Samantha. I don’t want any _cardigan_ ladies asking where Mommy is again.” Dean made a face, remembering any number of interfering old women who noticed if Sammy’s shoes were different, or his tee shirt was stained and who required Dean’s best polite-honest-face and lies about looking for presents for Daddy or something sweet enough to make the old _cows_ feel like they were co-conspirators.

“It’s _SAMMY_!” Sammy yelled, throwing the pile of blankets and his teddy bear at Dean before running off to his duffel.

Dean sniggered and hid Blue Bear in his own bag, gathering together all he figured they’d need for their trip while his baby brother struggled into pants and got lost inside of his shirt.

 

 

 

 

 

“Are we almost there yet?” Sammy whined, kicking the leaf mold at his feet and tugging on Dean’s hand.

“Almost where fart-face?” Dean tried to jerk and drag Sammy a little faster, worried that he’d get hungry before they could stop for lunch.

 

“The _place_. Dean.. where the _thing_ is. I’m _bored_ ”

“Sammy, you know you’ve got to be patient. Dad’s explained, you know, all about being quiet and still and stuff? This is like the other bit, the moving quickly and being quiet and _looking_ for stuff”

Sammy looked serious for a moment, the expression slightly ridiculous on his chubby little face.

“I can look, I’m _good_ at looking. I saw that Medigo first an’ Daddy said I was a proper hunter and really clever an’ _everything_.”

“It’s a Wendigo Sammy…”Dean sighed as Sammy tried to kick him. “Stop it. I knew you were too little to do this.” Dean turned, as if to go home.

“Noooaw! I’ll be good, I promise; I’m looking see? I’m looking.”

Dean stifled a grin as Sammy almost pulled him off his feet in his hurry to move up the trail, head turning from side to side far too fast for him to even _see_ clearly, let alone spot anything untoward.

 

 

 

 

Dean saw a fallen tree trunk a little off the path with enough clear space around it so they’d be able to see anything trying to sneak up on them. “Sammy, stop. Lunchtime.”

“What? Oh… right…here?” Sammy pointed at the ready-made seat.

When Dean nodded, he struggled out the straps of his backpack and dumped its contents out on the leaf-strewn ground; Dean made an exasperated noise at the mess. Sammy had a job to do however; out on a dangerous job you needed to watch your back, Daddy always taught them that. He pulled the half-full carton of salt from the tangle of sweater-and-extra-pants-and-really-cool-cereal-prize and started carefully dribbling out the protective white line round where they would sit.

“Good job Sammy” Dean grinned at him while he pulled out the snacks and soda he’d brought for them to eat; gummy bears and skittles. He knew that the sugar made Sammy a little crazy – crazier really - but cold spagettios or dry cereal didn’t make for a very good meal. Maybe next time they went for groceries he should check out those camping food things Dad sometimes got when they weren’t going to have a stove.

Dean made sure that Sammy was all packed up and ready to move quickly before they started eating, sitting back to back within the protective circle. Perfect hunters - working, not playing. Well; Sammy had that little car but it fitted in his pocket and was hardly _impeding their movement_. Dad wouldn’t shout at them, he’d be proud of Sammy.

 

Holding onto his little brother after lunch was a little like he imagined holding onto a rodeo bull might be and Dean heartily wished that he had some of those clown guys to head Sammy off.  
.

This had seemed like such a good idea last night when he spotted the story in the local paper, asked the kids hanging round the diner’s lone arkanoids machine a few questions. Dad wasn’t due back for a couple of days and Dean was going stir crazy.  
He’d been on a couple of hunts before, knew how to kill any number of monsters and this looked like a nice easy salt and burn job. Dad’d be proud and Sammy’d enjoy feeling like a grown up.

Dean nodded to himself. It was still a good idea. This ghost only hurt grown-up men so Sammy was totally safe. He checked the map that he’d ripped from the newspaper; they were nearly at the place.

 

 

 

“I’m cold Dean… that means we’re close, right?” Sammy looked over to Dean, face proud. “You should get the gun out, right?”

Dean nodded and pulled the shotgun from his bag, handed Sammy the small handgun he now habitually kept in his pocket. “Be careful with that Sammy, the safety’s on, ok?”

“I _know_. I can _see_ that.”

Dean tried very hard not to laugh at the bundle of belligerence, because laughing at bundles of belligerence with guns wasn’t high on the list of _clever big-brother actions_. Not that Sammy would ever shoot him, but still, not good practice. He waited patiently for his little brother to stow the gun in his pack. Dean nodded, okay Sammy might not be able to do anything more than not shoot _himself_ but that'd be better than nothing if something went wrong.

 

“Okay… this spirit’s supposed to look like a big cat but black and all misty… and we’re looking for some kind of cave where the bones are.”

“Like a cougar? I like cougars. There was a show with a whole family of cougars. A pride. Cougars are cool. Like big cats, only more like a dog. And brown like my church-pants. Except this one isn’t, right? It’s black, like your church-pants. Okay. Are you going to shoot it? The show said that you should make yourself big and they’ll go away. You’ll need to do that Dean, m’not very big yet and I don’t have my coat on. I should be wearing a coat to be big w..”

Dean interrupted his brother’s babble. “Shh Sammy. You’ll scare it off and you’re _not_ looking for it, you’re looking at _me_.”

Sammy shut up and pointedly looked away from him, still grasping onto Dean’s belt, now that his big brother needed both hands for the shotgun.

 

 

 

Dean decided that Dad would definitely grid search the area, so that’s what they should do... not that he was entirely sure how you did that without a map, but anyway they would try.

They made their way quietly through the trees, checking left and right, remembering to look up like Dad had taught them, Sammy clinging to Dean’s belt like a life raft.

 

Dean stopped, utterly still even when Sammy bumped painfully into his hip, until he raised his shotgun, tracking something that Sammy couldn’t quite see over the bush ahead of them. He could feel Sammy practically exploding with _what, where, can I_ , next to him, but felt a swell of pride that he couldn’t hear a sound. The dark shape in front of them sniffed the air delicately, obviously catching their scent, before turning and melting into the trees. Dean let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and lowered his gun.

 

“This way, Sammy,” he gestured forward to where the spirit had gone, reasoning that they must be close to its resting place, that it would most likely head back that way when it realized that they were not really its kind of prey.

“Dean, what’s wrong? I was quiet and stuff an’ I _looked_ real hard” Sammy demanded, still clinging close to his big brother.

“Yeah, you did Sammy, you were great.” Dean forced a smile onto his face. “Keep it up dude.”

Okay, getting pissed off because he was a man and the spirit should totally have wanted to eat him too was pretty dumb. Even if it was _true_.

 

 

 

The two brothers moved forward, mimicking their father’s hunter’s stalk, watching round them with wide eyes, Dean gathering as much comfort from Sammy’s clinging onto him as Sammy gained from the reassuring feel of Dean’s belt.

It was getting darker and colder, a sign of the haunting rather than the time of day Dean was sure, and Sammy was beginning to look very pale indeed.

“Hey Sammy – you ok? You’re lookin’ a bit green…”

“M’not, I’m just _being quiet_.” Sammy grumbled at his brother; looking a little better for his annoyance.

“We must be nearly there” Dean spoke quietly, trying to ignore the fear clenching at his own gut. Dad was never scared so Dean wasn’t going to be either. “We salt and burn the bones, and then we go for ice cream, okay?”

Sammy made an excited noise that Dean would classify under _squeak_ and a broad grin flashed across Dean’s face. Saving a little of the grocery money had been a good idea and they didn’t need any _vegetables_ anyway.

 

The woods were darker, more oppressive and still, as they headed to where the spirit had vanished, a sure sign of a haunting, that they were going the right way, but unsettling and Dean was worried that Sammy would be frightened. Dean wasn’t scared. Big brothers don’t get scared.

 

 

 

The cave had to be ‘round here somewhere, the kids in the diner had said that there were magical symbols and stuff around it - which Dean figured meant that the big kids had been playing about there – so he was hoping it’d be easy enough to spot.

“Dean!” Sammy shook his belt, pointing towards a dark hole in the trees.

There was a hint of rotting meat in the air and Dean could taste the tang of iron as they walked forwards. _Well, it’s either the spirit or we’ve walked into a bear’s cave…_ Dean grimaced slightly at the thought.

There were hundreds of symbols, written in mud and blood and who knew what else, scrawled round the edges of what was more a hole in the ground than an actual cave.

“This is it? Isn’t it?” Sammy had stopped and was shucking off his pack again. “I’ve got salt and my matches…”

“Okay Sammy, you salt them up and I’ve some got gas here to help them burn.” Dean took off his pack and removed the metal bottle, watching Sammy dig into the hole a little and expose the bones within.

Something knocked Dean roughly over on his side, battering Sammy into the hole and leaving Dean badly winded. The cat-spirit was right on top of them, having appeared from nowhere, its seeming insubstantial form feeling very very real with its heavy paws pinning Dean to the ground, its breath rank on his face. Dean struggled to move, feeling the spirit’s claws bite into his chest through his thin sweater. He couldn’t bring his right arm up, couldn’t bring the shotgun to bear and sharp, wicked-looking teeth were fast approaching his face. Being a grown-up sucked.

Dean felt a scrabbling near his arm as he turned his face away from the frightening spirit. Felt, rather than heard the reverberating bang of his shotgun.

Salt rained down on his face and the terrible pressure lifted.

“Sammy!” His voice sounded strange and woolly and he realised that the shot had gone off close enough to his ear to deafen him slightly.

He sat up and looked to where his Sammy now lay, looking pale and drawn, clutching the shotgun.

“Sammy!” His baby brother looked shocked, his right arm hanging at a strange, sickening angle.

“M’sorry Dean,” he whispered “I…” Sammy fainted.

Dean scrabbled towards him, slipping on the leaf mould in his hurry; the quiet of the wood feeling more dangerous by the second. He had to get Sammy out of here, get him fixed up… he looked so small and white lying there. His heart was thudding in his mouth. Dad was going to _kill_ him… but if Sammy was hurt… Dean felt tears pricking at his eyes. If Sammy was hurt Dad wouldn’t have to do a damn thing. Dean would do it himself.

He tried to pick Sammy up, but he’d gotten so _big_. Dragging him would have to do, but how to do that without damaging him even worse? Dean knelt by his brother’s head, tried to pull him up, hold him round his chest.

The tiny movement made Sammy groan, obviously caused him pain, but at least it woke him up.

“Dean!...” Sammy looked panicked. “What’re you…?”

“Getting you outta here.”

“Dean it’s gonna come back n’ _eat_ you, we’ve gotta _burn_ it, make it go away.” Bright determination nearly overwhelming the shine of tears in Sammy’s eyes.

Dean knew Sammy was right, but hated that he couldn’t just get him _away_.

“I’m gonna have to move you Sammy, get you out of the way of the fire.” Dean wondered if his own face was as white as his little brother’s.

Sammy raised his jaw, chin wobbling very slightly. “S’okay, Dean, help me up, I can do it.”

Dean lifted Sammy’s good arm and pulled him from the mess of bones and salt and to his feet. Sammy’s eyes went wide and he bit his lip but he didn’t make a sound.

“That’s it, that’s it, good boy Sammy…” Dean wasn’t sure who he was reassuring more, Sammy or himself.

He poured the gas over the already salted bones, saturating the contents of the hole and pulled his matches from his pocket. Sammy flinched at the sharp-scratch-smell of the match being lit but watched, nodding slightly, as Dean burnt the bones to dust.

The woods seemed lighter, smelled clean and fresh over the scent of burning gas and Dean knew that they’d done their job. No one else would die here. He grinned and turned to his little brother. The grin died and his stomach turned to bile as he saw exactly how Sammy’s arm was hanging.

“Sammy” he said in a low, serious voice “we need to get your arm fixed before we go back into town… people will ask too many questions otherwise.”

Sammy nodded, slowly, but couldn’t stop the tears tracking paths of pale pink clean through the mud on his face.

Dean retrieved his pack and looked through it for his spare shirt, his jacket… Anything that might help him get his little brother’s shoulder back to where it should be. His hand closed on something soft and furry…Okay, Blue Bear was kinda lame, but Sammy loved him, always slept better with him, always had to know he’d been put into the car when they were moving on…. Maybe the worn, stained and well loved toy would make this a bit easier.

“Sammy, look who’s come to help us!” Dean did his best kids’ TV presenter voice; he knew it sounded a bit crazy but if it got Sammy to stop crying anything was worth it.

Sammy looked at what Dean was holding and gave him a watery smile “Deee-an, he’s a _bear_. He can’t _help_!”

Dean noticed that that didn’t stop Sammy from grabbing hold of Blue Bear and hugging him tight.

“Okay, Sammy, I need to get you set up here… um... I think your shoulder’s dislocated, okay?” Dean knew he was babbling, a little, but he had to get what he needed to do sorted out in his own head. “Dad just pulled on mine to put it back, but I don’t think I can hold you and pull properly. I’ll need to tie you to something...”

Dean started ripping his shirt and testing the strength of the tree Sammy was leaning against. Sammy was murmuring something that Dean couldn’t quite make out, but when he started to wrap bits of shirt round his little brother it was obvious that the other party in the conversation was Blue Bear, not Dean.

“Shh, I know, it’s scary but Dean knows what to do…..You’ll just have to be brave like Ripley…” Sammy was looking very seriously at the little blue furry face. “Blue can be a brave name too, just like Sammy can….”

Dean smiled and wished, not for the first time, that Mommy had been around to name Sammy’s toys the same way as she had named his. Mommy had been so much better at names than Dean was… his had all been named for people in films, brave soldiers and things. Blue Bear was a lame name, not like Ripley; Ripley who had one eye and no stuffing in his left leg and who was still the toughest bear on the planet.

Finally Dean was done and Sammy was tied tight to the tree. He was going to have to pull, as hard as he could. Dad had said the angle was important, so Dean tried to make sure that he was going to be pulling right but even lifting Sammy’s hand caused him to whimper and Dean just wanted it over, not to hurt his baby brother any more.

Dean felt like he’d been pulling for days, listening to Sammy try not to scream out in pain, hoping for that _pop_ he remembered from when Dad had fixed his shoulder up. He almost couldn’t keep pulling, remembering how painful that had been even with the tablets Dad had given him. But he had to, couldn’t take Sammy home like this, couldn’t take him to a hospital and have to explain why Dad wasn’t there, that Mommy was dead.

Suddenly there was a sickening _slide-crunch_ and Dean felt Sammy’s arm just _shift_. He dropped his brother’s hand, shocked.

There was a moment of perfect silence, stillness, before Sammy started to cry, holding his arm round him and stroking it like he would a wounded animal.

Dean dropped to his knees, scrabbling to undo the knots from around his little brother.

“Sammy,” he asked, urgently, “are you ok? How’s your arm feel?” He raised his hands, wanting to touch Sammy’s shoulder and arm, check how it was, but afraid of hurting Sammy more.

Sammy took a deep, slightly uneven breath and nodded. “M’ok, it feels funny – like pins n’needles? But s’not sore no more.”

“Okay, lemme look?” Dean took Sammy’s hand, trying to remember what Dad had done. “Your fingers are all pink again, that’s good Sammy. Can you wiggle them?”

Dean felt a cold knot in his chest undo, Sammy looked okay, would probably be alright until Dad got back, would be okay until they got back to the motel and Dean could call Pastor Jim.

“Dean, you’re all white? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to..”

“Sammy, you did real good. You can have a banana split if you want?” There was only enough money for one of those and it would mean that they’d be eating a lot of cereal over the next couple of days, but that’d be okay. Sammy deserved it.

“Really? With cherries and sauce and things?” Sammy was grinning so much Dean reckoned he’d end up with a sore face.

“Yeah, if you like Sammy.”

Sammy held out Blue Bear to Dean. “Dean, you should look after Blue Bear, you’re good at looking after people and he’s really very little. He’s very brave though.”

“Yeah Sammy, he is. Okay, he can ride in my jacket, maybe you can give him some of your ice cream?”

Sammy giggled, “don’t be silly, Dean…”  



End file.
